


Listen To Me

by SoleilVioleta



Series: In Which The World Needs Continual Saving [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, lover's spat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:59:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoleilVioleta/pseuds/SoleilVioleta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>alternatively titled: What Dean and Cas argue about while Sam is gone</p>
<p>After a job, Castiel appears to Dean, who gives him an unplanned earful and an unplanned kiss.</p>
<p>'CONVICTION' romance offshoot</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listen To Me

Your first kiss with Cas had been largely unexpected.

 

You’d just finished a case involving some pretty heavy stuff. Mostly, it involved completely dashing a little girls’ hopes for her brother to live. You aren’t without remorse. You tried to help her pick up those pieces, but it didn’t really work. As always, you and Sam left behind casualties in one form or another. You have no idea if she’ll be okay, and you’re fairly certain that her brother is, in fact, going to become acquainted with a reaper very soon.

Jobs with kids really get you down. Most of the time, when you save the lives directly involved, you leave them ruined. You can’t help it. Fixing people after, teaching them how to deal, it’s not part of your job description. It’s a vacant space that no one is hiring for. And all those kids. Every single time, you can only see yourself and Sam in their faces.

You hate it.

In this particular instance, the weirdo monster had already killed quite a few people and had lined up a damned buffet. So, you know that you’d done the right thing. Over all. You always do the, over all, right thing. Even when no one wants you to, even when no one thinks you actually can. So if you’re always doing the right thing, why do you always feel so bad?

The motel you’re currently in, stupid floral pattern and all, is just generally shittier than your norm. The second you’d stepped in, before you started work on the job, you’d joked about deciding to stay at just one chain of motels (a nicer chain than this) to rack up frequent stayer points. Sam laughed, but pointed out the logistical problems of such a decision. You called him a geek, patted him on the back, and got to work.

When you returned from finishing the case, your rumination was bad enough that Sam left to retrieve food. He’d been doing that a lot lately, mostly because you’ve been becoming increasingly aggravated (and somehow, being in Purgatory had actually helped you shove your emotions further into whatever bottomless hole you’ve been cramming them into all along; and now that you’re not on the edge of your seat trying to survive every second of every day, you’re finding that you’ll have to learn to deal with emotions again.), so he’s tried to give you some space.

You’re sitting on the edge of your bed (stiff as a plank of wood, highly uncomfortable), your boots retired for the night, your hands clasped together, “To Castiel, Angel of the Lord I pray, blah blah blah blah blah we’re heading out tomorrow morning whenever we wake up, driving towards Selene, so whatever.” You’re particularly unceremonious about it. You normally pray in the morning, but you take the chance to do so now while Sam is out. You contemplate saying something more, now that you know Cas is actually out there. But you bitterly figure that if he wanted to talk, he’d bother to actually hang around.

You open your eyes and nearly fall over. Castiel has once again appeared without announcing himself, “Jesus man, say something! I thought we talked about this!”  
“Sorry Dean.” He seems genuinely and heavily apologetic, although you don’t know why he’s so serious about it. After all that time in Purgatory, you just figure that he would have learned to give you some sort of heads up, seeing as how during that time you killed anything that didn’t (and he’d witnessed such events plenty times). You open your mouth to say this, but before you can get a word in edge-wise, he speaks up, “I need your help.”

Something about this really ticks you off.

“Yeah, I know. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” You could not have made your words any more loaded, even if you had tried.

“You seem upset. I sense that you may have more to say. It is my opinion that you should speak what is on your mind.” It’s an understatement and he sounds so damn condescending. You know he doesn’t mean to, but that doesn’t make it any better.

“It’s pretty obvious Cas. You vanish for a year, and you come back only because you HAVE to? That’s bullshit. I thought we were more than that. Friends don’t pull that kind of stunt. Not to mention we really could have used your help today and several times since you’ve been gone!” You stand, spitting your words out between clenched teeth.  
“I didn’t mean-“ he starts to reply, but you don’t let him. You have no idea if he listened to your prayers during this past year, but he’s listening now, and you’ll be damned if you don’t get to say everything you think he needs to hear.

“Yeah! I know you didn’t!” Your fists clench now, and your short nails dig into your palms, “And that’s worse! We get out of monster party central and you fly off and don’t even think about me! Did you WANT to get away?” You point your finger at him accusingly, (although for exactly which part of your ample accusations you’re not sure, perhaps all of them.) “Or do you just; not even care?”

At this, Castiel takes a large step backwards, turning slightly, as if your words are a fire you’re aiming directly at him. You suppose in some ways, they are.

He doesn’t say anything.

This only makes you even more furious. You’re not exactly thinking straight any more.

“Huh, Castiel?” you use his full name, he cringes ever so slightly, “You just defy god and save a guy’s ass a hundred times and then decide you don’t like him? Fine! But at least tell me you asshole! At least have something to say about it!” Now you’re yelling.

You take a step forward, almost closing the distance between the two of you. He steps back, but you are not letting him worm his way out of this one unless he teleports away. You think maybe he’s too shocked to do this. You take another step forward. No, there’s no running from what you have to say.

He seems to take your words as some sort of prompting, and parts his lips as if he is going to speak hesitantly.

“No, I’m not done.” You do not give him reprieve, anything that he could say that might lead to forgiveness can wait until you feel you’ve sufficiently reamed him, “Next time you decide to take a vacation, you better let me know, because I’ve been worried sick. Looking out for someone the way we looked after eachother back there-“ your speech catches for just a second, as memories of Purgatory hit you like a ton of steel, “doesn’t just go away. Even besides that, I’m pretty sure angels have manners too so don’t give me that whole ‘I don’t get humans’ schtick.”

The room is also smaller than the normal room you’re accustomed to. This means that Castiel is practically against the wall, you lower your voice because you’re too angry to yell now, “If a guy prays to you just so that you know where he is,” pre and post purgatory memories of you praying to Cas flood your mind, his lack of response during the latter half makes you sad, which in turn makes you more angry, “he probably wants to hear from you. And if you come back after he assumes you’re dead, you’d better give a hell of a good reason or the most beautiful apology he’s ever fucking heard.”

Cas looks at you with the most blank expression you’ve ever seen, although he is a little pale. You wait for him to speak. 

He doesn't.

You grab the lapels of his trench coat and push him to the wall, “Say something!”  
Anything, you think. Say anything. Are you tired of me? Do you hate me? Were you laying low for safety? Just give me something.

You let his jacket go, but you’re still in his face, being as aggressive as you can stand to be. You’re Dean Winchester and the times when you are most vulnerable are times when you pick the most fights.

A very long time ago, you decided that you were done with this whole, ‘let’s not tell Dean we’re alive, ahaha.’ Bullshit.

“Dean, I-“ he finally speaks. He stutters, and you think you might be the only person to have heard an angel do that, “I didn’t know how strongly you would feel about my absence.”  
He looks you right in the eyes and at this moment you realize that you would have no idea if he was lying.

You’re so incredulous and angry and so not thinking anything through.

You grab his hand by the wrist, “Look Cas. You look and you tell me exactly how strongly I feel. You take a good fucking look, not a careful glance like you’ve done before, and you get a goddamn grip on what I’m saying.” You press his hand to your chest and you don’t know why (later, you’ll suspect that being in stressful situations causes him to fall back into his old habit, that is, following all orders), but he actually does it.

It hurts like it always has, the whole ‘someone is examining my soul’ thing.

But instead of biting a belt, or screaming, or grinding your teeth, you punch the wall and you kiss Castiel.

You kiss Castiel.

It happened so naturally that you didn’t even notice it at first.

(It’s not really a sexual thing, nor is it entirely platonic. You’re certainly not consumed with lust for Cas, but you’re also certainly not thinking about what a great guy he is.)

You had all this passion storming around you and the last time you were that passionate about some it was different, to be sure. You wanted to live in a nice house with her and raise her kid. But the dedication. The intensity. It’s the same here.

Maybe it’s even stronger.

Later, you won’t remember what kissing Cas felt like, other than that it was filled with that passion and warm (almost to the point of burning, but not in a bad way).

This time Cas does take his time rooting around, and you can actually feel that he’s seen the entirety of you, every dusty corner and every well worn space. All the parts of you that you know of and all the ones you refuse to acknowledge.

And when he stops, and he pulls his hand away, he says nothing.

You force yourself to meet his gaze.

You say nothing.

He vanishes.

And suddenly you’re not angry anymore.

You’re horrified.

What have you done?

 

Sam comes back ten minutes later and you’re still standing and looking at the wall where Cas was, willing your outburst not to have happened. This is why you keep things inside. This is why you don’t get mad. This is why you never let the people closest to you, see how upset you really are with anything and everything, and especially with them.

When the door closes behind Sam, you jump a little, returning to the real world instead of berating yourself.

Sam is smart and puts two and two together, “Cas was here?” he asks, somewhat nonchalantly.

You have no idea what to say, “Yeah.” There’s no lilt to your voice, no emotion.

Sam takes the cue easily, “You guys argue?” he puts your food on your bed and takes his out of the bag.

“Yeah” you respond. You shrug, trying to play it cool. Trying to play it like you hadn’t just kissed one of your best friends without meaning to (or at least without meaning to have meant to).

“He’ll be back.” Sam says, and begins to eat his dinner.

You’re not so sure.


End file.
